


Fifty-Fifty

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York always shows up at what Carolina considers to be the worst times, but end up being the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty-Fifty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crysiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysiana/gifts), [runawayballista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/gifts).



> >( Crysiana and Madi's fault, here. They mentioned femslash and York/Carolina and I couldn't stop thinking about how the dynamics would change if York weren't male. Anne has a really good post on it [here](http://anneapocalypse.tumblr.com/post/38116302295/this-york-carolina-thing) and I thought it was a really good read. Obviously not everyone will agree here but I thought it was an interesting look and then wanted to apply that to femYork to see how it'd change.
> 
> Also, y'know. Femslash.

Carolina paces, for the first hour. She doesn't deal well with situations that she can't control normally, and situations that she can't control that wind up with her people getting hurt-? Yeah, she deals with those even more poorly.

 

The medics aren't letting anyone in right now, even though multiple Freelancers have tried- hell, even Wash gave her the puppy-dog look when he got turned away, the typical _you're ranked higher, you should try_ look. It won't get her anywhere- they all just have to wait their time. She swaps places with North at his insistence, and goes for a run, takes a shower, and gets called to a meeting. They don't let anyone in during that time, which means she's caught in meetings and practice and watching her team, making sure they're all good, no one is shaken by York's being down.

 

It also means chastising Maine and Wyoming, and hell, she'd give Tex a piece of her mind if she could _find her_. It means going to the Director and demanding to know what that hell that was, because any one of them could have been hurt, not just York. It yields just what she thought it would- nothing but her being told to get up early for a briefing, because they have another mission. As much as it infuriates her, she knows it's good – it's a distraction.

 

In the end, York comes on the mission, and Carolina's grateful for it, even if the mission doesn't go how it's supposed to. Texas still wins and by the end of the night, Carolina's aching and nauseous and has bruises on her bruises. It's not the first or last time, but as she walks gingerly to her room to draw up the mission reports, she can't help but think how miserable it is.

 

Carolina's halfway out of her base suit when the knock comes. Fifty-fifty on it being York, and a quick glance out of the peephole shows she's right. Resignation sinks into her bones under the bruises and the weight of a mission gone wrong, and she opens the door. “You're supposed to be doing a check-in with the medical team,” Carolina says with a frown that doesn't hold half the weight it needs to in order to really work. York barely notices, her eyes drawn to the bruises under the basesuit, though she doesn't say anything right away. “I'm fine.”

 

“No one ever said you weren't, sugar,” York says airily, and heads for the adjoining room that has a bathroom, and a shower. “I'm turning on your shower. Is it still doin' that sputtering thing?”

 

Carolina doesn't reply, pressing her face into her hands a moment, because only fucking York can walk in here after taking a grenade to the face, no doubt doped up on medicine now that the mission's over, and be concerned about the shower. The other woman doesn't seem concerned about the lack of response over the way the shower works, because she's fiddling and humming and getting the shower set to three thick streams rather than the trickle of rain it usually is. “You want help with the base suit?” York calls back with a little grin, and pokes her head out the door. “I am so up for helping if you need it.”

 

Carolina's down to panties and a bra, opening her mouth to give her a sharp response, only to realize that – well, York's shucked her clothing a helluva lot faster than Carolina thought possible. “I've got it,” Carolina says belatedly, and heads into the shower, punched in the face with steam, the air thick. Rough hands slip over her shoulders, gentle, tracing bruises that still ache.

 

A hot shower sounds nice, and when it's two of them they're guaranteed to last a little longer than the strictly military ones she takes. Sometimes it's a little overmuch, York pushing her way into Carolina's life and habits like she's been there all along, but sometimes, like right now, she's a little relieved for the company to silence the self-deprecation going on in her head.

 

“The water's going to get cold if you're just gonna _stand there_ ,” York says, poking her head out of the shower with a scowl, the scar stretching awkwardly. York catches it, flinches and pulls her head back in just as Carolina slips in and sighs at the rush of heat, using York's body to shield her from it for a moment.

 

“I didn't think you should get it wet,” Carolina murmurs, and finds hands sliding over her shoulders, wet and slick and hot, already working at the tense muscles, avoiding the bruises.

 

“Nah, it only hurts when I-- uh, well, move, mostly. Inconvenient, considerin'. Though the meds they gave me? Awesome, for the record. Floaty meds are great. Nothin' hurts at all.”

 

Only York could describe taking a grenade to the face as _inconvenient,_ really, Carolina thinks, and lets her sweep her hair back over her shoulder, unsurprised when lips follow the path and hands start wandering. “S'it okay? Are _you_ okay?” York murmurs from her shoulder-blades, sliding her hands over the swells of her breasts, fingers toying with her nipples lightly as she smiles against slick skin, and promptly drops the expression when it makes the scars pull painfully.

 

“It's fine.” It's more than fine, really, and it always is, because York, for all that she's always got her nose in business it shouldn't be in, for all that half the time, Carolina wants to shake her, York has really, really talented hands and endless patience for this. Carolina had warned her the first time when York had gotten cocky about it, mouth between her thighs, fingers working her open with graceful little pushes and slips of her fingers against her. She'd warned her that she didn't come easily when it was other people, for some reason, and half the time not at all, and York hadn't been concerned in the slightest.

 

_So we give it a few tries and I spend a solid hour going down on you. Worst that happens is you don't come this time around but we both have a lot of fun._

 

It's a philosophy that served them both pretty well so far. It doesn't take much for Carolina to realize this is one of those times- York's sliding down her body and bracketing her in against the cold shower walls with her arms, easing down and pressing her lips against her hips. She's a little wet, thanks to the attention York'd been paying to her breasts, but she's too tense, too distracted for it to really go anywhere good. Every time she looks down she catches the scar on York's face, and she knows that York's aware that's part of it.

 

“You want me to hold off?” York asks, tracing rough, slender fingers down over the insides of Carolina's thighs, kissing along them soft and maddeningly hot, the water making her lashes stick together. “Making out like teenagers is still pretty cool at our age, I hear.”

 

“ _Our age_ ,” Carolina repeats dryly, and drags her up, because that seems like a better idea. She winds up with the long length of York's body pressed against hers, a little stockier, a little broader in the shoulders, bigger breasts pressed against Carolina's in a way that makes York's face light up in delight when she sees them. Still. Making out sounds like a plan. Carolina curls a hand in short, wet hair and pushes her back a little, tilts her head back and kisses her hard. It's part of why she loves doing this-- kissing York, or hell, doing anything remotely like this with York. York kisses the same way she handles fighting with her.

 

She'll give it her all, go above and beyond and it's all hands everywhere, sweeping all over the sensitive spots they know Carolina has, trying to rip little noises out of her. She'll give it her all because it's a thrill for both of them, pushing one of them down on the bed and sweeping their hands up to the headboard. More often than not it's Carolina that wins, but every so often, York plays dirty and sneaks handcuffs out, or cheats in some manner that winds up with her winning, smug.

 

“You're distracted,” York murmurs into Carolina's mouth, and dips her fingers down to stroke over her just to swallow the tiny gasp when she kisses the woman again.

 

There's no sense in lying about it- she is, and she's tired and as much as she likes feeling their skin slip slick over each other, she's almost more interested in the softness of her bed. “Wrap it up in bed?” Carolina offers, partially because the warmth is more than welcome and partially because she wants to make sure that York's as okay as she says she is. A few more kisses, softer, sweeter, less about getting her toes to curl and more just York being ridiculously affectionate as they shower, and then the two of them are out, and easing into bed.

 

In contrast to Carolina's difficulty at getting off, York's blessedly easy. “Plenty of practice doing it myself,” York jokes once, and dips Carolina's hands down to show her how it's done. They move carefully to avoid each other's aches and pains, York dotting kisses over bruises, smothering her gasps into the softness of Carolina's breasts as Carolina pushes a hand between her thighs and works her over without playing. York's soaked, always is when they get to this point, and Carolina's pretty sure it's half the making out and half just the idea of it, anymore. She's a little slower, a little more careful, methodical, as she runs her hands over Carolina's body in return – the drugs, Carolina assumes, because York's already got this blissed-out, pleased look on her face as she arches, sighing her pleasure. Carolina isn't sure if it's the pain meds or if it's the foreplay.

 

She curls two fingers into her and uses her thumb, her shoulder aching and protesting the movements, but a few deep, toe-curling kisses later, she's got York riding her hand and she's kissing silent any noises York makes. “Fuck, _fuck_ , right there sugar, right there, god--” Carolina doesn't smother that, because when it gets to the point of cursing and near-writhing and fucking herself down on Carolina's hand, volume is less of a concern. Besides, it's a little bit of an ego-stroke, because York gets downright filthy when Carolina's been making her wait- a lot less incoherence and a lot more begging, a lot more praise. “C'mon, boss, almost, almost, a little harder, _mmmmm_ , your hands, just like that-- _”_

 

It's taken Carolina a little while to get used to this-- that York likes it when Carolina rides the edge a little harder and fists a hand in her hair, _makes_ her come, kissing her hot and sloppy and open-mouthed and fucks her open with three fingers, finally, and watches her come apart. Usually, she can tell whether or not York wants to go any further by how much more she eggs her on – this, it seems, is one of those times, because York's digging her hand into Carolina's hip and riding her hand like she hasn't just come, like her thighs aren't shaking and she's not flushed all the way down to her collarbone.

 

Her shoulder's aching at this point, but she shifts, and pushes herself up to brace herself, and let it never be said that she leaves anything unfinished. It doesn't take much- York's hands slide up to her own breasts, pinching at her nipples while Carolina drags her teeth over York's bottom lip and fucks her open, fingers pushing over her clit, and the mission might be a complete and utter failure, but it's a sharp, hot thrill drawing away and pressing her lips lightly against York's ear, saying, _Come for me right now_ , and feeling her do it.

 

York's breath catches in her chest and she jerks, arching, trembling, pulsing hot and soaking wet around Carolina's fingers. She's always quieter the second time around, gasping shaking and finally melting into the sheets. It's a little disconcerting to see just one eye this time, the other one milky white with angry red scar tissue all around it, but when York tips her head, gives her a glassy-eyed look, Carolina figures it's not as bad as it could be.

 

“Post-mission orgasms are the best,” York sighs, and promptly fits herself against Carolina's side once her fingers are out. “You wanna go to town with yourself?”

 

It takes her a moment to realize what she means. She probably ought to say no, but at this point, she's wide awake. Sleeping this turned on isn't going to help in the slightest, she'll just wake up wound up and cranky. In the shower, she would have said no, but right now, she's wet, and it's all because York's gorgeous when she comes like that. Lube finds its way into her hand, courtesy of York, smiling like a shark against her shoulder, even though it pulls at her scars. She gets her fingers slick, and dips them down between her own thighs while York grabs her still-wet hand and sucks her fingers into her mouth, doing something absolutely _filthy_ with her teeth and tongue and smiling as she sucks two of her fingers into her mouth while Carolina works herself to the edge, and after forever, comes with a muted little sigh.

 

It's overwhelming to settle in with the sheets over them, but Carolina does it anyway because they'll need them sooner or later, and curls up with them. Carolina's reaching for her tablet just as York winds an arm around her, voice thick with sleep, sated. “I'll read your mission report b'fore you submit it if you want me to,” York offers, and Carolina rolls her eyes, propping the tablet up on her knees to start typing, feeling York inhale and exhale soft against her shoulder.

 

“I have it handled.” Because letting a vaguely doped up, post-sex York proofread anything just wasn't a good idea. Carolina feels her settle in a little more comfortably, and works on the report, keeping personal bias out of it as much as is humanly possible, and promises herself next time she'll do better- be better.

**Author's Note:**

> I've gone over this a handful of times but I know I missed something, goddamn posting fics at 1AM. If I did, don't hesitate to mock me for it. :(


End file.
